


A Small Galaxy

by Goldendays (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Art, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:29:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Goldendays





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback?

**I.**

  
Alex ran the pen along his skin, watching the ink flow from the pen and onto his skin. He drew stars, and a few planets, and the sun. He considered drawing the moon, then decided against it. He couldn't draw the moon. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't. He turned his arm over, and started drawing designs on it, going over the faded scars on his wrists, the black looking stunning against his pale, but tan skin. Alex jumped from the tree and pulled his hoodie sleeves over his art. God knows what his mother would do if she saw them. She hated tattoos and piercings and anything that signified uniqueness. He tugged the sleeves over his palm. Alex loved "sweater paws." They were better than gloves and easily accessible. He put his hands in his hoodie pocket, and began walking home. His mum was at work, therefore he had two hours to kill. He would probably spend it in his room drawing. Or in the living room, playing violin and relishing how it was the only sound in the house and nobody, nobody, could tell him to shut up so they could watch the tv. Or maybe he'd venture playing the piano again. He half-smiled at the thought. Alex knew he wasn't going to play the piano in the foreseeable future. He didn't exactly know why, but he had stopped a year ago. Now, whenever he had the chance and sat back down on the piano bench and put his fingers to the keys, it felt wrong. He would have to stand up and leave the piano, because he couldn't play it. And it was driving him crazy, how he didn't know why he couldn't play now.

Alex snapped out of his thoughts, and realised he was at his driveway. He walked up and inserted his key into the lock, turned it, then opened the door, automatically pushing his dog away from the door that led to the street, closed the door, and pressed the numbers to shut the security alarm off. He locked the door behind him, and with Beebo happily following, he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Alex checked Beebo had enough water and food, then sat at the dining table, setting his juice on a coaster (or else his mum would yell at him), silence engulfing the house that was empty save for a boy and his dog, named after the nickname of one of the boy's heroes, the lead singer for the first band Alex had fallen in love with. Alex felt despair, as with a feeling of monotone, he realised the general routine of his summer. As his mother worked, he would go to the park in the morning and climb his tree and draw his art. After, he'd walk back home and be with Beebo, and either draw, play violin, or continue X-Files. Then, his mother would come, he'd shower, wash off his art, get dressed for bed, then spend the rest of the night in his room, avoiding his mother and her boyfriend, drawing or writing poems. Then after her boyfriend left, he'd go to say goodnight, then spend the rest of the night staring at his ceiling in thought. He'd get an hour, at most, of sleep, wake up, make coffee for his mum and him, say goodbye, then start his day again. He supposed if he had friends outside of school his life wouldn't be so dull. He snapped out of his thoughts and left the table, and the orange juice. Alex sat down in the floor, and smiled as Beebo ran to him and jumped onto his lap. The door opened. Alex's brow furrowed in confusion and he stood up and walked to see who it was. His mum wasn't scheduled to come home for another two hours.

But there she was, smiling. He smiled back, walking towards her and hugging her small frame. "Mum, what are you doing home?" he asked.  
"I went home 'sick.'" She made air quotations around the word. "I was thinking maybe you and I could have a day off, maybe catch a movie or something?"

He felt a rush of joy, seeing his mother like this. She hadn't been this happy since the divorce, when Alex's father had taken his two younger siblings and left Alex and his mum behind. Alex personally wasn't surprised his father had given custody of him to his mother. Who would want a teenager instead of two little kids, especially when said teenager was adopted, and the kids weren't?

A phone call pulled Alex out of the memories. His mother gave him an apologetic look. He knew it was her boyfriend. He smiled and waved her on. She mouthed, thank you, and she answered it as she walked to her room.

"Hey, Howard."

Alex scrunched up his nose. One of the main reasons, albeit a stupid one, why he hated Howard was his name. It didn't fit him.  
Alex sat back down on the hardwood. He had a tendency to sit on floors, but he liked it. He sometimes was ridiculed for it, but he didn’t care. A few minutes later, his mother walked back out.

“Alex-”  
“It’s fine. We can do it again some other time.” He shrugged, pretending not to care that it hurt that his mum would rather spend time with her boyfriend than her son. She gave him a look of remorse.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” 

“It’s fine, really,” he interrupted, standing up. "I'm gonna go to my room while he's here, okay?" Alex's mother knew he didn't like Gabe and she stared at him with a forlorn look in her eyes as she watched her son and dog leave her in the living room.

"C'mon Beebo." Alex closed his bedroom door as soon as the small white Bishon Frise entered. He plopped down onto to his chair, turning to his desk, and grabbed his sketchpad and pencil. He began sketching, the results unknown to him until it was obvious. The shape of a woman began to blossom on the paper. Alex drew and drew for what must've been at least two hours, until finally he was finished. A young woman in her late twenties, with a bundle of blankets, a baby, in her arms. Sh looked fondly at her child, her hair up in a bun, and still in her waitress uniform. It was obvious the small family didn't have much, but the look and smile on the young mother's features made it seem as if she had all that was needed. And perhaps she did.


End file.
